


Summer Hearts

by milestofu



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milestofu/pseuds/milestofu
Summary: Shane invites Ryan to go with him to Illinois and meet his parents for the July 4th weekend. Ryan agrees and definitely doesn’t freak out about it because that’d be ridiculous.





	Summer Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I recently discovered these ghoul boys and fell in love. I don’t know what demon possessed me to write this seeing as I usually write angst, and this can only be described as self-indulgent fluff with a touch of me projecting my anxiety disorder on Ryan. This is the first thing I’ve written for this fandom, so I hope the characterization isn’t completely awful!
> 
>  **Written for the prompt:** 99\. “I fell in love with you, not them.”
> 
>  **Warnings:** Mentions of anxiety??? Aside from that, this is essentially Soft Boys™ simulator 2k19.

Shane turns in his chair and his knobby, bony knee hits Ryan in the thigh as he scoots closer and asks, "Want to go with me to Illinois?"

Ryan, not expecting the question, is caught off-guard like a deer in the headlights. He stares at Shane as if he heard him incorrectly and may or may not sputter incoherently for a couple of seconds.

"What?" He manages words eventually.

"Ya know…" Shane gestures with one hand and sets his phone down on the desk with the other. He'd just finished speaking with his brother, confirming plans and all that; at least, that's what Ryan overheard, anyway. "Go to Illinois, meet my parents—the whole shebang."

"Uh," Ryan says, hesitant, and there's anxiety churning in his gut all of a sudden. He's already met Shane's brother, and while Scott was nice enough, the idea of meeting Shane's parents feels different—more significant somehow, and like a big step in their relationship. "D-Do you want me to go?"

Shane makes a face. "Would I be asking if I didn't want you to?"

 _Good point,_ Ryan thinks.

"July 4th weekend, right?" Ryan asks, if only to make sure what he'd heard Shane say on the phone earlier is correct. Shane offers the briefest of nods. "Yeah, sure," he says. He doesn't have any other plans. "Sounds good."

"They'll love you," Shane says after sensing his unease. "Probably."

Ryan laughs in the moment but later that night, and in the months leading up to July, the "probably" haunts him. He's always been an anxious person, fretting over one thing or another, no matter how sensible or illogical those things may be, and the fact there's even a _chance_ Shane's parents won't like him makes him want to throw up. He never does but feels like he could when he so much as _thinks_ about the trip, which is _constantly_ because he's _obsessing over it_ , imagining each and every way it could go horribly wrong.

He knows, without a doubt, Shane would tell him he's being ridiculous if he knew how badly he's psyching himself out, and it wouldn't be unwarranted.

By the time July finally rolls around, Ryan feels no better, if a little sweatier since it's summer now. He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt to distract himself as he sits beside Shane in an uncomfortable chair at the airport and waits for their flight to start boarding. Shane isn't oblivious to his nervousness and has his left hand resting on Ryan's knee; the weight and warmth of his hand is something Ryan takes comfort in.

Shane's not looking at him, his eyes trained on his phone as he uses his other hand to scroll through Twitter to pass the time. He doesn't need to be looking at Ryan, though—the gesture is enough since what Shane lacks in his ability to feel fear, he makes up for in reading body language.

It's part of the reason Ryan thinks they work so well together hosting _Unsolved_ ; when Ryan's beyond terrified, Shane's beside him laughing, debunking everything he says he hears or sees, but always knows when to pull back and stop joking when it all becomes too much for Ryan to handle.

Ryan can't even begin to count how many times Shane has brought him down from the verge of a full-blown panic attack during filming by being there, gently grabbing him by the arm, and telling him everything's fine, that he's safe, and even if there was a ghost or a demon— _which there isn't,_ Shane can't help but add every time—he'd never let them hurt Ryan, so there's nothing to worry about.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, Shane's words, and the almost not there touches, succeed in calming Ryan without fail.

Ryan doesn't notice he's zoned out until Shane's hand is no longer on his knee and instead being waved in front of his face. To his credit, Ryan only startles _marginally_. Shane's staring at him and Ryan realizes his phone is nowhere to be seen and he has the strap of his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder which had been previously sitting on the floor by his feet.

"Our flight is boarding," Shane tells him.

"Oh," Ryan says. "I don't… know how I missed that," he admits and _wow_ , he must've really been lost in his own head to not hear the overhead announcement. He picks up his own carry-on from the floor and rises to his feet.

"Tired?" Shane asks as they make their way to their terminal.

Ryan shrugs in response. "Kind of."

Shane, bless him, can read Ryan like an open book. He throws his arm around Ryan's shoulders, tugging him closer to his side, and the palm of his hand comes to a rest near Ryan's collarbone. Ryan ducks his head, and it's not because he doesn't like public displays of affection—he loves himself some good old fashion PDA; however, Shane's affections make his heart swell in such a way that his face burns red-hot, and it embarrasses him.

It's like he's in middle school again with a stupid crush.

Thankfully, the redness of Ryan's face has gone away by the time they're seated on the plane and cruising at 30,000 feet. Then again, Shane's arm around his shoulders has gone away with it, and Ryan thinks it's a bullshit trade off—why can't he have one without the other? He does, however, get to listen to Shane not only complain about the lack of legroom in economy—which, honestly, is a fair point—but also the terrible acting in the was-there-even-a-budget horror film they're watching since the in-flight movie catalog was, as expected, absolute garbage.

It makes Ryan happy—okay, it makes him _really_ happy.

In fact, Ryan's so content listening to Shane that he forgets about his reservations about meeting Shane's parents until the plane is landing and taxiing on the runway; the realization he's in Illinois, and that Shane's parents' house is about an hour drive from the airport, hits him like a slap to the face.

 _Don't panic_ , he tells himself.

(He panics.)

"It's fine, you're okay," Shane says and Ryan barely hears him over his racing thoughts as he helps shove their luggage into the back of the car they've rented. Shane takes Ryan's carry-on from him, tosses it in after his own, and closes the trunk with an audible thud. "Seriously, man, they're going to love you," he says, and he means it.

"What if they hate me?" Ryan asks, wide-eyed. It's hitting him now that he's here, he's doing this, and there's no backing out now without looking like a total asshole.

"They're not going to hate you," Shane says immediately. "Besides, I think it's impossible for anyone to hate you—trust me, I've tried."

Ryan blinks, dumbfounded, and then says, offended, "You dick!"

Shane laughs. "I'm kidding, but really, they're not going to hate you."

"Yeah, but…" Ryan trails off, not knowing what to say, but the need to disagree is still there. "They could, though, and that's terrifying, dude."

Well, that doesn't sound petulant at all.

"Boy, you are going to look so foolish when my mom grabs you by your literal cheeks and tells you that you're the cutest thing she's ever seen," Shane says, overlooking any childishness in Ryan's voice. "Cuter than her own children, in fact! I'm not gonna lie, I'm gonna be a little offended, because what am I, chopped liver?"

"No, you're a chopped beanpole," Ryan says too quickly and Shane pinches him on the arm in retaliation. Ryan jerks away from his fingers and finds he's grinning; his worries have lessened. "Alright, yeah, I'm being a bit ridiculous."

"Just a bit," Shane confirms but doesn't sound like he minds. "At the end of the day, I fell in love with you, not them, and whether or not they love or hate you is neither here nor there."

"But… they're your parents," Ryan says. "Their opinion matters to you."

("It matters to me," he doesn't say.)

"Yeah, it does," Shane says, "and I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be upset if they hated you, but the most important thing to me, and I'm going to go full cheese here, prepare yourself"—Ryan can't keep himself from smiling—"is how you make me feel and if I'm happy, and I am."

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said, 'full cheese,'" Ryan says.

"Warned ya," Shane says, and then he's leaning forward on the heels of his feet, and there's fondness in the crinkles around his eyes. "So, what do ya say, Ryan? Want to go rip off the band-aid and meet those scary parents of mine?"

Ryan shoves him back and says, "Yeah, let's do it!"

"That's the spirit!"

It's only when they're merging onto the highway that Ryan looks over at Shane from the passenger's seat and says, "I thought you didn't believe in spirits."

Shane, who's holding Ryan's hand, their forearms resting on the center console, audibly groans. He lets go, moving his hand to join his other on the steering wheel, and Ryan bursts into what can be described as uncontrollable cackles.

"I'm breaking up with you," Shane tells him completely seriously.

Ryan laughs harder and it feels like a weight has been lifted.

As it turns out, traffic is terrible—not nearly as bad as L.A. traffic—but they make good time and it's just now getting dark, the sky colored a beautiful array of oranges and pinks as the sun begins to set. Over all, the drive from the airport is negligible, and before Ryan knows it, Shane's taking the next exit off the highway, and weaving through the twists and turns of the back roads of the Chicago suburbs with practiced ease and a sense of familiarity.

Ryan feels no familiarity, he's never been here before, but he does recognize Shane's childhood home from the photos he's seen when it comes into view. It looks older now, the brick exterior more worn from weathering; however, the white of the front door, garage door, gutters, and window frames appear to be freshly painted.

It's a nice house and as Shane's pulling into the driveway, parking behind one of the two cars already there, butterflies begin to form in the pit of Ryan's stomach as the nervous energy from earlier returns, slowly at first, and then all at once.

He swallows the feeling down as best he can and turns to Shane who shifts the car into park and turns it off entirely; the soothing rumble of the engine goes silent, the headlights no longer blinding as they reflect off the car's bumper in front of them, and oh no, Ryan thinks he's going to be sick—

"You ready to get your cheeks pinched?" Shane asks, startling Ryan from his stupor.

"What? No way," Ryan says with a wheeze. "She's not going to actually do that, is she?"

"Who knows," Shane says, dismissive and noncommittal, and there's mischief in his eyes and the upward curl of his lips when he continues, asking, "How about you and I go find out?" He's goading Ryan on, encouraging and daring him all at once, and he goes as far as to _wink_.

Ryan chokes, flustered, and is barely able to catch his breath enough to say, "Dude, _stop_."

"What do you think, Ryan? Is it showtime?" Shane's still teasing.

"Yeah, sure, _whatever_ ," Ryan says. "I'll do anything if it means getting out of this car if you're going to keep winking at me in it."

His heart can only handle so much.

Shane's response is to laugh and undo his seatbelt. Ryan does the same and they both get out of the car. Ryan flinches when he closes the passenger's side door harder than he was intending to. In front of him, the house is completely nonthreatening in every sense of the word, but when he looks at it, fear does make his heartbeat quicken.

He takes a deep breath to center himself, and like a mantra in his head, tells himself everything will be fine, and as Shane has told him countless times so far on this trip, he can and will be okay—they're going to love him, right? He trusts Shane, and he's going to be brave.

Shane rounds the front of the car, and Ryan is compelled to ask, "Should we grab our bags?"

"Nah," Shane says with a shake of his head. "We can grab 'em later."

Ryan's last-ditch attempt at procrastinating the inevitable slips through his fingers like sand.

"Well, let's do this then, big guy," Ryan says, and it's all false confidence and bravado, but at the same time, it's _not_. He kind of feels himself believing nothing will go wrong now that he's here and maybe— _just maybe_ —he's worked himself up over nothing.

Expression soft, Shane reaches forward, grasping Ryan by the shoulder, and giving it a brief squeeze. It's meant to be comforting, grounding, and it works like a charm. Ryan will never admit how weak he is for Shane's touch—he's taking that shit to the grave and will keep it as a secret as a ghost, too. Not that it matters, though; he has a hunch Shane knows without him having to say anything.

It's probably some stupid boyfriend intuition or something.

Shane gives Ryan's shoulder another squeeze and lets go. He turns and begins to walk, and Ryan follows him up the front steps. The outside screen door, desperate for WD-40, creaks on its hinges when Shane swings it open. He takes the time to rap his knuckles on the hardwood of the front door but doesn't bother to wait for anyone to answer before pushing it open.

Stepping to the side, Shane gestures for Ryan to go in front of him. Ryan's first reaction is to furiously shake his head no, his eyes as wide as dinner plates and panic-stricken. Shane huffs a laugh, says something under his breath along the lines of "just like our _Unsolved_ shoots," and takes the lead. Hesitantly, Ryan steps into the foyer after him.

Immediately, there are the sounds of approaching footsteps, and a woman Ryan recognizes as Shane's mother comes around the corner, a stained apron tied around her waist. Ryan's first thought, stupidly enough, is "holy shit, she's tall," which she is, being nearly as tall as Ryan himself, and when Shane's father appears, his second thought, more stupid than the last, is "yep, this is the reason Shane's the human embodiment of those wacky waving inflatable tube guys outside of car dealerships."

"It's good to see you," Shane's mother says as she pulls him into a hug.

"Hi, mom," Shane says, his voice muffled by her hair.

Ryan, who's standing behind Shane, looks away from them, feeling incredibly out of place and like he's intruding, and accidentally makes eye contact with Shane's father, who nods at him in acknowledgement. Ryan returns the nod jerkily, an awkward smile plastered on his face out of reflex, and oh God, he's been here for thirty seconds, and he's already making a fool of himself.

Shane's mother releases Shane but holds onto his upper arms for a few moments before letting go. Her gaze lands on Ryan then, and at first, all she does is stare at him, contemplating, and as Ryan starts to think that this actually was a bad idea, she's closing the distance between them, and hugging him.

Ryan's almost afraid to touch her as he hugs her back. He barely hears Shane exchanging greetings with his father over the pounding in his ears. Shane's mother lets him go, takes a step back, turns to Shane, and places her hands comically on her hips.

"How dare you keep him from us for so long," she says, chastising. "I've raised you better than this."

Scott, who's seemingly materialized from nowhere, and is leaning against the archway of the foyer, snorts. "Yeah, Shane," he says. "What gives?"

"Don't you even start," Shane says and keeps talking but Ryan doesn't listen to the rest of what he says because he's overwhelmed by the fact Shane's parents, apparently, don't hate him as he feared they would. "Hey, ya still in there?" Shane's voice pulls him from his thoughts and makes him jump. Shane's staring at him, questioning, but there's something else there—something tender and understanding. "A lot on your mind?"

"N-Nah," Ryan says, and then continues, quieter, "I'm just happy."

Scott fakes gagging in the background.

"Don't be a spoilsport," Shane's mother says, whapping Scott on the arm. She looks to Shane whose attention has shifted from Ryan to her, and tells him, "Dinner is almost ready but it'll be some time yet, so feel free to show Ryan around and bring in your things from the car."

Shane thanks her and gives Ryan no choice in whether or not he wants a tour or to bring in their things from the car as he whisks them off. Ryan doesn't know what he expected Shane's childhood home to look like, but he doesn't think what he's seeing as Shane leads him around is too off the mark of what he would've expected had he tried to picture it.

There are family photos lining the walls, Shane in various stages of awkward youth, and there's an olive-green chaise sofa in the living room which looks like it'd be incredibly comfortable to eat popcorn and watch movies on; Ryan makes a mental note to do that before their flight back to California.

(A movie with a budget this time would be nice.)

Shane opens another door, and this time instead of standing outside and speaking about what's inside as Ryan peeks around the doorframe to investigate, he steps inside, motioning for Ryan to follow. It's a small room, the ceiling angled down diagonally on one side, but they've somehow managed to fit a queen-sized bed under a window that, from behind the curtains, is letting in an obnoxious yellow glow from the streetlamp outside.

The room is dimly lit but Ryan can tell the walls are painted a light shade of gray and everything looks like it should be covered in a layer of dust from being untouched but none of it is. It occurs to Ryan then without Shane having to say a word—he can practically see where the posters used to be on walls and the slope of the ceiling since there's no way Shane didn't put some sort of poster on the ceiling just because he could.

"This was your bedroom?" Ryan asks.

"You got it, baby," Shane says. Ryan flushes at the casual endearment. "They use it and my brother's old room as guest rooms when people stay over," he says, "but they're mostly not used unless me or my brother come to visit."

"Dude," Ryan says, "how many times have you hit your head on the ceiling?"

"After my growth spurt? More times than I'd like to admit," Shane says with such sincerity it sounds like he's recounting horrors from his childhood. "I got better about it as I got older, but I've learned my noggin' is as hard as rock."

Ryan's tempted to test that statement.

(He refrains.)

Instead, with a smile pulling at his lips, he walks further into the room and can't help but imagine what it must've been like for Shane to grow up here. From what's he's been told, Shane's parents didn't move around much after he was born, and from the age of five onward, this is the room Shane called his own until he left for college after graduating high school.

Over ten years of Shane's life had been spent in this space—so many milestones must've happened here, and yeah, Ryan's probably getting more sentimental about this than he should be. He doesn't realize Shane's walked up behind him until there are hands on his hips and Shane's chin resting on his shoulder.

Shane asks, "What're you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Ryan says. "It's stupid."

"Indulge me," Shane tells him and Ryan's entirely too aware of the feeling of his hands on his hips. He's so close Ryan can feel the warmth of his breath on his ear. He'd be lying if he said it didn't send shivers up his spine like sparks of electricity, igniting his nerves.

"Well," Ryan says because fuck it. He leans his head back, and the side of his cheek brushes against the stubble of Shane's jaw. "It's just… this is where you grew up, you know?" He asks, and without waiting for a response, he continues, rambling as he says, "It must mean a lot to you and there are so many things that must've happened here that I don't know about, and I don't know, it's really cool to think about, and I'm glad you asked me to come even though it freaked me out for months, man."

Ryan's words slur together towards the end in his excited rush to get the words out and he ends up a bit winded. Shane's only reaction to what he's said is to tighten his hold on Ryan's hips and to start to rock them both ever slightly side-to-side in place in a lazy rhythm. Ryan reaches down, places his own hands on top of Shane's, and is more at peace than he has been in months.

"I'd like to say I never would've expected you to get sappy over my childhood bedroom of all things," Shane says, "but nope, this is completely on brand and I can believe it 100%."

"Oh my God," Ryan says with a laugh.

He twists around and there Shane is, staring down at him, and a dorky, love-struck grin on his face. There's so much love and emotion there and it makes Ryan's heart skip a beat. Ryan doesn't bother to try and hold back the impulse and stands up on his toes, pressing their lips together. It's completely uncoordinated because in his haste Ryan misses at first, kissing more so the side of Shane's mouth than his actual lips. Shane's quick to correct him, his hands no longer on his hips and now on either side of Ryan's face, holding him in place.

It's desperate and needy and Ryan knows they left the door open, but he can't bring himself to care—he's cared too much recently, and now it's time for him to sit back and let himself live without worrying about every little thing. He doesn't notice he's keening or being moved until Shane's shushing him and the back of his calves connect with the edge of the queen-sized bed. He loses his balance, falling backwards with a surprised yelp, and the breath is knocked out of his lungs when Shane lands on top of him.

Shane doesn't give him time to recover before he's kissing them again. His beard is a rough scrape against Ryan's skin that Ryan loves—it makes him feel alive and it's everything he's ever wanted. He reaches up, carding his fingers through the softness of Shane's hair, and pulls. He wants Shane to be closer— _needs_ him to be closer.

"Shane," Ryan says his name like a prayer against his lips, and then, again, " _Shane_."

They part if only because they need to breathe at some point, and lightheadedness is beginning to set in. It's like Ryan's run a marathon, his breaths coming out in short pants, and looking at Shane, he's not fairing any better. Ryan snickers because Shane's hair hasn't escaped unscathed from his wandering, insistent fingers, and is an absolute mess.

"Laughing at me, huh? Rude," Shane says as he sits back and makes a lazy attempt at fixing his hair. It doesn't work. "Thanks for this, by the way," he says.

"No problem," Ryan says.

He's about to say something else when Shane's mother's voice calls from the kitchen that dinner's ready. When neither of them responds, she calls them by name, and this time Shane yells back that they'll be right out. Shane kisses him one last time—Ryan thinks it's far too brief—before he's sliding off the back and making his way over to look in the mirror above the dresser pressed against the far wall and fix his hair. He succeeds this time in at least making it semi-presentable.

Ryan really, _really_ wants to mess it up again. He rises to his feet and resists the urge as they make their way to the dining room. There's a conversation going on between Shane's parents and Scott, and as soon as they enter, it grows suspiciously quiet. Ryan, confused, wonders if there's something on his face at the same time Scott bursts into laughter, which is never a good sign.

"Wow, I have no idea what you two were getting up to," Scott says. "Nice beard burn, Bergara."

Ryan's face might as well be on fire.

He thought his face felt kind of warm and irritated but—

"Shut up, Scott," Shane replies, sounding embarrassed. He grabs a mortified Ryan by the arm and leads him to one of the two empty chairs at the dining table.

Once seated, Ryan shoots a glare at Shane, and asks, accusing, "Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I didn't think it was that noticeable!" Shane defends himself, and then continues, "The room was kind of dark…"

Scott's laughing again.

Ryan thinks this may be the worst day of his life.

Despite the fact Ryan wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole, dinner goes well. Shane's parents don't seem to mind that he and Shane were _definitely_ making out in his old bedroom, and afterwards, when they're all gathered outside in the backyard with full bellies and setting off belated bottle rockets and firecrackers since July 4th was two days ago, Ryan decides, as he watches Shane's face be illuminated by beautiful reds and blues and greens, that yeah, this may be the worst day of his life, but he's glad he gets to share it with Shane.

He'd have it no other way, after all.


End file.
